


A Wolf, A Fox

by Looks_Clear (chrysalisdreams)



Category: Psycho-Pass
Genre: Gen, Gen because there may never be more, Ginoza is seeing ghosts basically, Not just seeing IYKWIMAITYD, also Makishima/Ginoza, it was supposed to be KoGino
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-11-02 19:26:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10951164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chrysalisdreams/pseuds/Looks_Clear
Summary: During Ginoza's recovery in the Adachi Medical Center, he hallucinates fantasies he will never tell to anyone.





	A Wolf, A Fox

> _ I look for ghosts; but none will force _
> 
> _ Their way to me. 'Tis falsely said _
> 
> _ That there was ever intercourse _
> 
> _ Between the living and the dead. _
> 
> WILLIAM WORDSWORTH,  _ Affliction of Margaret _

  
  


  1. Canis



Nobuchika Ginoza required sedation for longer than usually necessary after cybernetic arm replacement. He should not have had the mechanical arm at all; reconstruction surgery on the arm crushed during his final case with the MWPSB had been going well until Ginoza’s psycho-pass deteriorated rapidly during the operation. The surgical drones assessed that damage to the inspector’s psyche would be a greater loss than that of a natural limb. They opted for limb replacement, per Ministry of Health guidelines.

Sadly, Nobuchika Ginoza’s coefficient remained high during his recuperation. The MWPSB had no choice but to rescind his position as an inspector, at least until such time as his psycho-pass fully recovered. Strangely, the news did not seem to affect Ginoza’s hue in the least. While he stayed under sedation, it was a murky blue grey. When he was awake, it warped into the range of orange and red. Since the hue could easily muddy into a death sentence, but the artificial arm required physical activity to develop full functionality, Nobuchika Ginoza alternated between long hours of lying on his pallet, staring at the blank ceiling, and short bursts of exercise. Luckily for him, he responded obediently to any commands that came through the comm. He had been a well trained member of the Public Safety Bureau. 

Inspector Akane Tsunemori and Enforcer Yayoi Kunizuka came to visit Ginoza a few days after his surgery. He didn’t want company, but he did not have a rational argument to turn them away. On the other side of the transparent barrier, Akane stood up from her chair when Ginoza entered his side of the visiting room. Yayoi stayed in her seat, but her posture straightened and she leaned forward. Ginoza felt unexpectedly touched by their sympathetic expressions. He knew how bad he looked, how ugly the mechanical arm looked attached to his body, even with the suture marks and covered. The sleeve of the soft jacket he had over his shoulders couldn’t cover it completely. He kept the hand on his lap, under the table. 

“I don’t want to ask, but I have to know,” he said to them. “Where’s Kogami?”

Akane looked like she wished she had a different answer. “We don’t know,” she said.

“He’s alive,” Yayoi supplied, answering the underlying question Ginoza had been asking. “He killed Shogo Makishima. You weren’t conscious when we picked up Inspector Tsunemori.”

Ginoza’s lips tightened into a hard line. “Thank you.” In the Medical Center, all information had to be approved. Ginoza had not been able to find out the result of the Makishima case through regular means, and he had no access to the Bureau. He should have felt relieved that Kogami lived. If he felt relief, it was an emotion smothered by the black shadow of some large and nameless beast that Ginoza could not look at directly.

“How are you feeling?” Akane asked.

“The drug therapy keeps the pain manageable,” Ginoza answered. “I’m told as long as I exercise the limb, I could have full neuromuscular integration in about a month.”

Yayoi’s gaze roved around the room. “Is there anything you need that they’re not giving you?” she asked.

No doubt, she was recalling the denial of her requests when she had been in isolation. Ginoza remembered that it was something to do with music. Yayoi had been in a Sibyl approved band once, and she still played the guitar, not that he’d had many occasions to hear it. Inspectors didn’t normally socialize with Enforcers. Kogami, before his hue clouded, had been an exception. Ginoza remembered that bitterly.

“I would like to be kept updated, if that is possible,” Ginoza answered. 

“You should take this time to rest,” Akane said. “We miss you at the MWPSB.” She sighed. “We’ve lost so many.” She put her small hand against the barrier. “I’m so sorry, Ginoza-san.”

“You look tired,” Yayoi said. “Inspector Tsunemori, we should let him rest.” She exchanged a look with Ginoza, as if to say, she understood that he would avoid the subject of his father’s death.

“Oh. You’re right,” Akane agreed. To Ginoza, she said, “I’ll come visit again soon. If you need anything, please let me help.” She stood up, followed by Yayoi.

“Tsunemori,” Ginoza called out, as the thought occurred to him. The young inspector gave him her attention, not as an eager subordinate, but as a caring friend. Ginoza continued, “For Kogami’s things that don’t get confiscated -- you can use Masaoka’s place for storage.” He would have to sort through his father’s home and possessions after his release from the Adachi Center.

“I will,” Akane replied.

She and Yayoi said their polite goodbyes, and then they left. An assistance drone came for Ginoza, and he was carried back to his recovery room on a motorized seat. He felt like an invalid. The helplessness sat poorly on him, a suit of clothes from a previous season. He was reminded that none of his sleeved clothes would fit well now, not with the bulky arm. 

He was thankful for the lack of mirrors in the medical center. He felt lopsided,and what he could see without a mirror of the joining between the mechanical arm and his body was bad enough. Even the neat merger between the two zones could not eliminate the horror he felt. The arm was like some kind of parasite latched onto his body, and because he could feel his arm responding to his impulses as if it were still there, it was as if the arm had been swallowed by the invader.

On Masaoka it was different. Ginoza remembered seeing his father’s cybernetic arm and thinking that it seemed no different than a gun, as if simply partner to a dominator in the old man’s other hand. Masaoka had been rough, inelegant, and it had been easier to think of him as an old hunting dog than as an inadequate father. Ginoza had modeled himself after his mother, who always had her hair neatly pinned, her clothes pressed, and her makeup subtle and flawless.

He could think of his own arm replacement the same way, he decided. Closed into a fist, his hand would be a brutal weapon. He needed something to punch.

For the first time, he put in a request for something other than information. He scheduled time in the physical therapy gym. He put in an order for sleeved sweatshirts in a size larger than usual, and for a pair of gloves he could use to cover his artificial hand. He would use the hand as a tool, but there was no reason he had to look at it.

By the time he finished his apparel order, his request for the gym was approved. His automated caretaker uploaded some choices of workout programs. He selected a routine that required the least interaction a with a medical drone. He would still have to endure riding to the gym facilities on the escort drone, for now, as if his legs, not his arm, caused his convalescence. His balance would not be trustworthy until he could prove it so, something he had not accomplished by lying on his bed, drowning in self recrimination.

He had so much regret. He regretted being alive. What a fool’s choice his father had made in going after the bomb. Just once, the old man could have respected their roles and followed Ginoza’s order, but Masaoka had always thumbed his nose at rules, always had to do things his own way. He encouraged Kogami’s tendencies in the same direction. If Masaoka had just done things Ginoza’s way this once, Kogami might have still had a chance. Kogami wouldn’t have killed Makishima, and with Makishima in custody, Chief Kasei could have been convinced to reinstate Ko as an Enforcer. Ginoza wouldn’t have been there to plead for him, but Akane could have done it, surely Akane could have. She thought quickly on her feet, even where Kogami was concerned. Better than Ginoza had, himself. A flash of memory filled his mind like lightning: Chief Kasei’s hand on the dominator Ginoza held, aimed at Kogami, and Ko turning his face away so he wouldn’t have to watch Ginoza pull the trigger.

Would he have fired? Ginoza still didn’t know what he would have done if Akane had not paralyzed Kogami with her own dominator. He had been certain that Chief Kasei would have slid her hand down over his on the trigger if he had continued to hesitate. 

*

Painful. His prosthetic was not top-of-the-line, but it was still a high grade model. Like his care, the quality came courtesy of his MWPSB coverage, a final severance to conclude his service as an inspector. With neuro drugs in the mix, Ginoza should not have been able to feel any pain from the arm.

The pain didn’t come from his mechanical arm. It came from the phantom of his natural arm. The mangled, missing arm, a limb that didn’t exist, screamed out with every small movement of the new arm, as if to remind Ginoza, “You can fill my place, but you can’t forget me.” Still Gino persisted. In a way, the pain felt right. The pain felt appropriate. How could he not feel pain after having lost such a big part of himself? He was smart enough to see the transference. He had lost his arm, but not completely, not the way he had lost Masaoka, and all chances to right their relationship. Nevermind that he had never believed it could be made right; he had never been able to control that persistent, ridiculous hope. In the end, when his father had not left him, it had been too late. Every twinge was Gino’s bitterness.

Kogami. Kogami wasn’t dead, and yet it was the same as if he had been dead. Even a small thought that it  made any difference -- that was the same kind of allowance as imagining that Kogami could come back from being an enforcer, as if such a fall could ever be undone. 

*

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Encourage me to continue writing this, if you like it. The rating would change to MA/E in future chapters if I wrote as I originally intended. However, if I get the drive to continue, it's just as likely (now) to be a lot of talking instead of a lot of rough sex scenarios. I wanted to share what I had instead of leaving this unseen in a Google Doc forever.


End file.
